“When she becomes a mother, it is as if a women must go deep in the bowels of the earth, back to the elemental emotions and the power which makes life possible, losing herself in the darkness. She is like Eurydice in the Underworld. She is pulled away from a world of choices, plans and schedules, where time is kept, spaces cleared, commitments made, and goals attained, to the warm chaos of love, confusion, longing, anger, self-surrender and intense pleasure that motherhood entails.” - Sheila Kitzinger

Motherhood is everything - it’s how we all began and yet, it’s so overlooked.

It’s a role that holds all the feels in extreme intensity from joy to pride to rage to sadness. Anxiety for so many reasons and isolation too.

We are raising the next generation - perhaps the generation who will be asked to make incredible change in this world. Perhaps the generation who will save our species...our role is anything but small - it’s everything.

Join us as we circle for a series of weekly rituals that honour Motherhood and build sisterhood between us.

At this time there are fewpoems about pregnancy and childbirthdo I find this curiousI want to shriek atany identitythis culture gives me claw it topieces; has nothing todo with me ormy baby and never will,has never perceived ahuman being.My baby is quiet and wise, but I'm a trade name and I'mchaosrainwater on a piano -- I'm soscared then but now of then I'd sayI want to make your tunes go awayto have a child is more casualthan, you might say, and more serious thanthe definitionfor who, frankly, was ever bornor gave birth?

After the usual pain and the well-meaning,mostly but not all,intervention of others and others' words and meaningsI find him. Lying next to me yes and beingnursed by me.I serve him why not he isn't wrong.

I'm infused with a noxious dispiritas the world makes me be a womaneverything has gone wrong in some sense by now.

Of two poems one sentimental and one notI choose bothof his birth and my painful unbirth I choose both.The woman in the photo has a haircut from Vidal Sassoonwears a black silky synthetic top and probably a long skirtthe baby on her lap in sleepers anda blue and white Peruvian cap.They look abstracted in the same way.He is the baby unchaotiche is born and I am undone -- feel as if I willnever be, was never born.

Two years later I obliterate myself againhaving another childnot to be a form of womanbut in allegiance to the process Ican't quite see.I have begun to be.

I sit with my sons in a barely cared-for apartmentinside from Chicago in the TV's ambience (black andwhite, like the snow) purple crocuses thereTed's becoming sick with a lasting illnessthough we are calm while money doesn't press usa moment of happiness, these bodies are clearall four finally clear andstill clear

"I think that parenting young children (and old ones too) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they’ve heard there’s magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb is an impressive accomplishment. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it’s hard there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they cried most of the way up.

And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers, “Are you enjoying yourself?! If not, you should be! One day you’ll be sorry you didn’t!” those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.

My point is this: I used to worry that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn’t enjoying it enough. Double failure. I felt guilty because I wasn’t in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn’t MAKING THE MOST OF EVERY MOMENT like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and cranky and ready for the day to be over quite often. And because I knew that one day, I’d wake up and the kids would be gone and I’d be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? No.

But the fact remains that I will be that nostalgic lady. I just hope to be one with a clear memory.

And here’s what I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in line:

“It’s helluva hard isn’t it? You’re a good mom, I can tell. And I like your kids, especially that one peeing in the corner. Carry on, warrior. Six hours ’til bedtime.”

And hopefully every once in awhile I’ll add, “let me pick up that grocery bill for ya sister. Go put those kids in the van and pull on up. I’ll have them bring your groceries out.”

Thank you to everyone who participated, worldwide, in the Women's March on Washington! There's really so much to say about this that it somehow feels quieting - like we can't quite find the words (or at least, the right words) to speak of everything that creates the need for an event like this, as well as the power and beauty of an event like this.

But we're definitely asking a lot of questions and some of the questions that keep coming to mind are 'how do we exist in the face of hate and not return it?' and 'How can we act with grace amidst chaos?'

Well, to start, we stand.

That's right - just show up. Sometimes, words aren't even necessary but our energy, our presence, our support and our radiance are.